For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid.

Like this:

“A fortnight later, sense a single man / upon the trampled scene at 2 a.m. / insomnia-plagued, with a shovel / digging like mad, Lazarus with a plan / to get his own back, a plan, a stratagem / no newsman will unravel.” Berryman

loss
and
small feathers
their absence a feature
secondary to feather quills
and knobs
in larger speakers quill knowledge
regulatory effects loss and
the secondary feather distribution
directs
complete understanding six low
papillae on the quill knobs en volant
birds display
variable cooption this spaced
feathers and that of the rapport
in cathers
to cally this
leaded life
the and the only meeting
reincarnated in return
religiously simplistic movements
the same the moment
the view of
the feathers limited
that
their absence
is of right addition
the secondary feathered
posterior so
of

Like this:

“How I make my way through this thicket of information—how I manage it, how I parse it, how I organize and distribute it—is what distinguishes my writing from yours.” Kenneth Goldsmith

young ago what grew
language mostly
better county historical
in all it suits ownership
old past diction
encourages but no one end
of Samuel Johnson his own way
for it might birth you when is
I found sometime quiet and right
I could have good people
where steamrolling after whitening
ago what ought today end one
the anniversary and for it
happened then family tethers
sanctification but now when
the years of -isms came up I wanted off
after county and the end of blunders
but now you build a sub-world
answer at the natural arts
an after and I did it myself
houses are in their ignorance natural
arts crawled up my personalism
and actually chose a reliable
want at the any-think of could
looking as his store polities
book pages cherub exhaust cherubs
happen rally it’s a waster
sentification the madam
publish sentencing a book
a page a woman after with family
tend arranges individual cannot
just drudgery interred ignorance
anecdote as well I did not go over
that party betters and so far lost
people so I drifted in neither studious
anecdote nor steamrolled up I went to make
because it is
what I what I